Victims
by adelaidybug
Summary: For once, they're the victims. And it's not so simple as an artifact.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there readers! After weeks of being in a creative rut, this wrote itself. **

**Disclaimer: As always, I own neither Warehouse 13, nor any of its characters, though I wish I did!**

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Claudia was laying in blurry, numb blissfulness. A feeling was nagging her in the back of her brain; telling her all was not right. In fact, something was very, very wrong. She tried to ignore it and continue in her dark, dreamless slumber, but that annoying inclination kept eating away at her until she gave in. She pushed through the heavy shroud of sleep. Layer upon layer of the heavy blankets of hibernation fell off her before she finally started to notice things. There were noises around her. Wheezing, gasping breaths. Dull moans. Soft cries.

As discomfort slowly crept up behind her, she tried to slip back into her sleep. But before she could withdraw from consciousness, red hot pain roared through her body with breath-taking force. It took her a good half-minute before she could finally suck in a gasp air. She was choking and heaving, drawing painfully tiny bits of air in and out of her lungs. All of a sudden, she felt a cold hand touch her own and she froze, and slowly, her heavy eyelids giving way to far too much light. She blinked, trying to clear the dizzying dots spinning through her vision.

There was a cough. She knew that cough. Strictly speaking, she couldn't even remember who she was, much less any information regarding other people, but she recognized the voice that spoke next.

"Cl- Clau….de?" It was halting, thin, and slow, but she knew that voice. His voice.

She wanted to answer, wanted to call out. But she couldn't seem to clear get any sounds past her sandpaper tongue. Her dry mouth wouldn't even allow her swallow as she coughed painfully. But she managed to turn her head to the side; to look at his face through the clouds in her eyesight. There were other people scattered helplessly around the room, but Claudia didn't recognize any of them. The man was sitting in a pool of blood, his ice blue eyes staring at her. She parted her cracked lips, once again trying to say something, anything. The only sound she succeeded in making was a pathetic croak.

"It's okay," the man said between wheezes, clumsily reaching a hand to touch her face. Pain was radiating throughout Claudia's body, but she was too dazed to pinpoint specific locations as inky night seeped into her vision, and she stopped hearing sounds.

Her consciousness came and went in flashes.

* * *

Flash

A woman with dark hair and a british accent calling to her, and putting two fingers on the side of her neck. Why wasn't she checking her pulse on her hand?

* * *

Flash

Two men were lifting her up and putting her on a gurney.

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Flash

There was a low ceiling in a tiny, tiny room. She thought perhaps she was moving. Oh, what was it called? An ambience? Ambu…

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Flash

A man with grey hair and small, round spectacles was trying to get her attention.

"Claudia? Can you hear me?"

She stared up at the person, unable to respond. Her eyelids were too heavy to remain open.

* * *

Flash

"She has lost a significant amount of blood and has crashed twice since she arrived. Once she stabilizes, we'll start lessening the sedatives and painkillers so she'll be more aware of her surroundings."

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Flash

Pain. So. Much. Pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters**

**Warning: a bit of blood and such lies herein. Read with caution.**

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Claudia Donovan burst through Steve Jinks' door one evening.

"Hey Jinksy, you ready?" She walked around his room, unable to keep still.

"Tell me again how you convinced me to go see some low-budget horror movie with you at a theater two hours away?"

"'Nightmare in the Wild West' is a classic indie horror film playing at a classy old-timey theater. How could you not be convinced to go?" The redhead cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. Just let me grab my wallet."

Claudia squealed excitedly and they left for the theater.

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The movie was halfway over. Claudia was curled up in her seat, clutching Steve's hand with one hand and nervously biting her nails with the other. She alternated between suppressing yelps at the jump-scare tactics of the horror movie, and laughing at the random funny or cheesy bits.

Suddenly, there were gunshots. But they didn't coincide with the movie. They were loud. Too loud. And suddenly, the two Warehouse agents knew they were real gunshots. The sounds echoed outside, coming closer and closer, until one of the theater doors was thrown open and the lights turned on. A man in a black mask began open fire on the crowd. At first, the scene was too horrific for Steve to move, but once he came out of his trance, he grabbed Claudia and pushed her to the ground in front of their seats, throwing himself on top of her small frame to protect her as the man began to shoot. He noticed the gunman was moving in an organized fashion, going down each row on one side. Steve could only conclude that the man would finish that side before he started on the half in which they were crouching.

"Claude," he whispered frantically.

"What?"

"As soon as he passes us, while he's shooting that way, run to the other side of the aisle and lie down like you're dead."

"Okay."

The man had walked past them, continuing to rapid-fire with his automatic weapon.

Steve whispered, "Now!"

Time seemed to slow down as they got up from the ground and attempted to get to the opposite row. They were halfway across the aisle when the man spotted them. There were more gunshots, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing had happened. Then Steve looked over and saw Claudia clutching her stomach and falling to the floor, and suddenly he felt his shoulder jerk back. He realized a second later he had been hit, and sank to the ground as the world went black.

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Helena Wells was freshening up in the ladies bathroom at the theater. Nate and she had gone on a romantic weekend getaway, and he had insisted she see a film entitled 'Nightmare in the Wild West." From the opening credits, Helena was bored senseless, and around halfway through, she had excused herself to the bathroom. As she smoothed down her dark hair, she heard the sound of gunshots errupt from the lobby. Quickly, she flattened herself against a wall, hearing the loud noise growing fainter, and ever so slowly opened the door a crack. A man in a dark mask was disappearing into the theater as more shots rang out, and screams sounded. Pulling a gun and her cell phone from her jacket, she dialled 911 and cocked the weapon.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Hello, I'm at the Classic Theater in South Chamberlain. There is a shooter on the loose inside the theater."

"We're sending help right away, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"Do you want me to stay on the line with you?"

"No thank you."

"Okay. The police and medical help are on their way."

Helena hung up the phone and slid it back into her pocket. Holding up the gun, she slipped out of the bathroom and checked that the coast was clear. She slid against the wall toward the theater entrance, hearing screams and more gunshots, and then silence.

As Helena pushed through the doors, she held up her weapon, but found no one shooting. Then she saw man on the ground with an automatic weapon discarded by his side.

She stared at him for a moment before going to check on the many wounded and dead in the room. Some were dead or nearly dead. Others had only been superficially shot. And a few hung in the balance. Where was Nate?

She searched the entirety of one side of the aisle with no sign of her boyfriend. Suddenly, she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. Whipping around, she pointed her gun, but it fell to the ground when she saw who it was.

"Nate!" She threw herself into his arms. "Are you okay?"

The man nodded, grunting slightly when she hugged him. When she pulled back, she found blood oozing from his arm.

"Well, that's not really what I'd call okay." She ripped a piece of his shirt off and tied it tightly around the wound. "Meds and police should be here soon, darling."

"Okay." He hugged her again.

"I'm going to see if anyone else needs help," she said, starting up the aisle. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Claudia and Steve laying in the aisle before her. Her stomach lurched as she ran over to them. There was blood everywhere, so she had a hard time determining where exactly Claudia and Steve's injuries were.

She was going to check the redhead's pulse on her wrist but when she looked down, she found one of her arms mangled badly . Her other arm was wedged underneath her, so Helena put two fingers to Claudia's neck. The pulse was weak and thready, but still there.

"Claudia, can you hear me? Claudia?"

The girl's eyelids fluttered open for a moment, but then her eyes rolled back in her head again.

"Claudia?" She found that the younger agent's abdomen was hemorrhaging blood, and she balled up her sweater, pressing it to Claudia's stomach.

"Nate?"

He came over.

"Can you hold this with your good arm?" He did so, and the Brit moved over to Steve. He was slightly less messy, though still looked like something out of a slasher movie. His pulse was racing.

Helena grabbed Steve's shirt and ripped a piece off, using it to tie a tourniquet tightly around his shoulder, which was bleeding heavily, then took a look at a place in his ribs which was also wounded. She didn't have any material to press to the wound, so she pulled off one of her two layered tank tops and applied pressure to Steve's rib.

"Steve? Can you hear me?"

The man didn't respond.

The thick stench of blood hung heavy in the room, making Helena nauseous. She was in no way a pansy, but was understandably shaken from the incident.

Finally, the meds and police came, asking Helena dozens of questions. She barely heard them, watching as Steve and Claudia were picked up by EMT's and hauled away on gurneys.

"I'm sorry, could we take a five-minute break from the questions? There's something I need to do."

The police complied, and Helena stepped into the hallway, dialing Myka's number into her phone.

"Helena? Hi, how are you?"

"Myka, hello. There's..." Helena felt like she was going to be sick. "There's something I need to tell you. Steve and Claudia… were shot. They're on the way the way to the hospital in Featherhead…"

Myka didn't respond.

"Myka, hello?"

The woman had hung up, and Helena had no doubt that she was already on her way.

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Well, how did you like it? Your reviews make me so incredibly happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Warehouse 13.**

**This one was just sort of thrown at me as I was writing it, and I was like "Wait, WHAT?" But then it just worked. So forgive me.**

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Claudia was pushed into awareness by the sounds of whirring and beeping, small moans, and muffled talking. She knew if she took another step into consciousness, she would be in pain, but she couldn't stop herself, and found herself uttering a moan from her dry, cracked lips.

"Claude, it's okay. You're okay," A voice said soothingly.

"Ow. Ow. What's happening?" Pain was radiating from her abdomen and right arm, and everything was too much; too loud, too real. She wanted to retreat back into her mind, but the pain kept her there, grounding her to the truth. The girl wearily opened her eyes, squinting against the painful light. When her pupils adjusted, she was looking over her left shoulder at a woman with soft, curly hair and a sympathetic smile.

"Myka?"

"Yep. You're in the hospital, Claude. Do you remember what happened?"

She wanted to shake her head, but she was so dizzy, she knew if she moved she'd probably black out. "No," she mumbled.

"There was a gunman at the theater where you and Steve went. You both got shot."

"Is he okay? Is Steve okay?" The young agent was frantic, and objects began shifting abnormally in her field of vision.

"He's here in the hospital too. He's pretty beaten up, but he'll be alright."

"Okay." She was trying to get her heart to stop beating so quickly, when a nurse came in.

"Hi Claudia. How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," She croaked.

"Anything specific?"

"Yeah, my arm really- Holy crap!" She had turned her head to look down at her right arm, when her heart seemed to fall out from underneath her. It was gone. Her arm was gone, and in place of it was a bandaged stump. "What the frak? It's… I…" She had gone terribly pale, with a sickly green tint. "I'm going to be sick."

The nurse quickly pulled an emesis pan off a shelf and shoved it toward the girl as Claudia's stomach emptied itself. When it was over, she laid back, taking halting gulps of air, the peaks on her heart monitor skyrocketing.

"Just calm down, honey," the nurse said.

"I don't fracking have a right arm! How am I supposed to be calm?"

Myka put her hand on Claudia's other shoulder, not saying anything, and the girl just stared at the odd bandaged stump for a very long time, her breathing and heart rate gradually slowing.

A doctor walked in, having been paged by the nurse, and introduced himself as Dr. Snelling.

"What happened?" She said the words in a monotone, and was unable to tear her eyes from where her arm had once been.

"You had multiple gunshots to your arm, which shattered the bone and ripped up the muscles and tendons terribly. By the time you came in, you had lost so much blood and the damage was so bad, that we had no choice but to amputate," the doctor said, a sympathetic tone to his voice. "It was either your arm, or your life."

Claudia nodded slowly, a wide-eyed, rather blank expression on her pale face.

"Besides that, you sustained a hairline fracture to your right hip bone, and some damage to your intestines. You are extremely lucky to be alive."

The girl didn't reply this time. The nurse stood there awkwardly for a few moments, before exiting, saying something about calling her if Claudia needed anything, and the doctor left in a similar fashion.

Myka stayed there with Claudia.. She knew the shaken agent didn't need consolation or sympathy; she just needed someone there with her.

After 3 hours, the injured girl finally spoke again.

"It's... It's gone, Myka."

"I know."

"I can't even write with my left hand. When I do, it looks like a three-year-old's handwriting. And how am I going to wear a jacket without looking like a freakazoid? And how am I supposed to type? It's going to take me twice as long!"

"That'll still be faster than I can type."

"Yeah, but there'll be short cuts I won't be able to do because the keys are on opposite sides of the keyboard! And I won't be able to go out on assignments anymore, because who needs an agent with one arm? And Myka, what if they won't let me be caretaker?" The girl was talking rapidly, and the peaks of her heart monitor had begun to spike again.

"One thing at a time, Claudia. You're extrapolating pretty far. Of course they'll let you be caretaker. It's not like the regents have a lot of choice about it. The Warehouse chose you."

The girl's eyes had been filling with tears, and finally they spilled over, running down her face and neck. Myka sat down on the bed next to the fragile redhead, who took up so little of the space on the bleached sheets. Gathering the young agent in her arms, she held her tightly.

"Claudia**,** I know you're not okay right now, and that's okay. But eventually, things will be okay again."

The girl's left arm was slung around Myka, holding on for dear life, not even trying to suppress her shaking sobs. After twenty minutes, Claudia fell asleep, but Myka wasn't quite sure if she had passed out or simply dozed off from exhaustion. She continued to hold her fellow agent for a long time, wishing she could take away her pain.

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**Thanks for reading. It would make me so happy if you would leave a review! And um... apologies for the sadness.**


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